Boston Metaphysical Society: A Storm of Secrets

1

I’d rather face a firing squad, Samuel Hunter announced with all the sarcasm he could muster as he gazed down the gangplank and cringed. It looked as though all of Boston had arrived to watch him and his wife, Elizabeth, disembark the Hermera. If he appeared the least bit awkward, the gossip mongers would skewer him both publicly and privately. He was, after all, now the husband of the heir to House Weldsmore and they were disembarking a Crystal Class passenger steamship built and owned by her father, Jonathan Weldsmore.

Stop acting so silly, Elizabeth replied as she peered up at him from under her black silk hat with a brim just wide enough to shield her eyes from the sun.

On the dock, dozens of Bostonians waved and cheered as they waited for the other passengers, but moved aside when Samuel and Elizabeth walked through the crowd. A few women curtsied when Elizabeth stopped to greet them, ogling her magenta silk brocade ensemble with gold filigree woven throughout the corset and half jacket. Though he loved his wife with all his heart, Samuel was appalled when people treated her like royalty. And this wasn’t the first time. It had been a weekly occurrence in almost every major city in Europe they’d visited during their honeymoon.

A Middle District man, Samuel had been astounded when the real royalty fawned over her and attempted to bribe him because they thought he had Jonathan’s ear. When they learned he was useless to them, he was shunted aside.

Elizabeth, he called to her. The car will be waiting.

She said her goodbyes and moved out ahead of him.

Samuel followed but not before he tugged at his long dark-brown woolen coat with two copper strands woven into the lapel. He had to make sure no one saw the gun in his shoulder holster. No need to alarm anyone. Though Elizabeth was safe on her father’s premier ship and the docks, his old Pinkerton habits were hard to break.

An older woman gave Elizabeth a variegated violet rose as they wound their way through the throng. Elizabeth patted the woman’s hand and smiled. Her butterfly-shaped fascinator of silver and copper filaments accented with pearls glittered in the sunlight as she waved goodbye. Most waved back in adulation. Elizabeth Weldsmore Hunter was not only well loved for her generous philanthropy, but defined fashion among the Great Houses on the East Coast as well.

A midnight-blue steam-powered car with silver trim chugged toward him. Polished to a high sheen, it sparkled when the sun hit it at the right angle. As it slowed, a rush of steam poured out the exhaust pipe. Brendan, the chauffeur, stopped before any toes were crushed then hopped out to assist them. Two Weldsmore guardsmen in long silver coats trimmed in copper with the emblem of House Weldsmore—a sailing ship with three masts—embroidered on the upper left side of the chest flanked the car. Both of them peered into the throng of people as if expecting the worst.

Brendan! I’m so happy to see you! Elizabeth gushed.

A stocky man with graying hair, he gave her a short bow as he opened the back door of the car for them. Always a pleasure, miss. I mean Mrs. Hunter, he replied with a hint of an Irish lilt. He nodded at Samuel. Geoffrey is picking up your trunks.

As Elizabeth got into the car, Samuel noticed dark circles under Brendan’s eyes and tension in his face. I hope all is well with you.

Nothing for you to worry about, sir, the chauffeur replied with a stiff smile.

Brendan? Samuel raised an eyebrow at him, not believing a word he said.

Let’s just say Mr. Weldsmore is a happier man when Mrs. Hunter is present.

Well, he and you can come visit us after we find our new home. Samuel made a mental note to talk to him in private later as he stepped into the car.

Yes, sir.

One guardsman sat in the front with Brendan while the other entered another car that followed behind them.

After negotiating the crowd, the trip back to House Weldsmore would take about thirty minutes. Brendan took a slight detour up Tremont so they could drive through the park and avoid the cobblestone streets. Elizabeth had rolled down the front windows to let the air in. She gazed out the back, noting the various changes that had occurred over the past year. How the trees were taller, the flowers more vibrant, even the streets cleaner. Samuel only had eyes for her.

I want to expand my philanthropic work, like my mother did. Perhaps plant a new garden in the park for the school children. A new wing at the hospital. Or even something on the South Side, she commented, rubbing a smudge off the window.

Samuel chuckled. South Side? I think your father will have an opinion on that.

My father has an opinion on everything.

She sat back in the seat, took his hand, and squeezed it. You know I haven’t had any visions for a whole year. I think the honeymoon may have had something to do with it, she said with a lowered voice as she snuggled closer.

Honeymoons are good. He grinned. We should do one every year.

Her face lighted up in joy. That’s a wonderful idea. Her eyes then narrowed as she pondered the idea. Samuel loved watching her plan. One month out of every year, we shall go on a honeymoon. Away from Father, the business, everything, she announced.

I particularly like the part about being away from your father. Which reminds me, you’ve put off deciding where we’re going to live long enough. Samuel remarked. We could find a house near Beacon Hill in the Middle District.

Elizabeth turned to gaze out the window again. I’m tired of talking about that. We can decide all that later.

You keep saying that, but—

She gasped.

What is it? He leaned forward to see what had upset her. She pointed out the window.

The police were cutting down the effigy of a man hanging from an elm tree with the words Great Houses painted on it. Nearby, a small group of protesters were being arrested.

Oh, hell, Samuel muttered under his breath. Someone will pay for this.

I don’t understand. We help them.

Elizabeth, you’ve seen the dark side of this city in your visions. Not everyone believes in the benevolence of the Great Houses. Not even you.

The childlike enthusiasm vanished as the mature and sometimes troubled woman returned. I know.

He had met Elizabeth when Jonathan Weldsmore hired him to be his daughter’s body guard. They’d been returning from a social event when Elizabeth had fallen asleep in the car and had a vision of them being attacked. When she awoke, she’d realized the attack was imminent and warned him. The men were swift and brutal, but Samuel’s Pinkerton training had paid off and he’d killed all of them with only their driver being injured. When Jonathan had learned that Samuel now knew Elizabeth’s secret, he had threatened to shoot the former Pinkerton detective.

A bang against the window surprised them both. Samuel reached for his gun when he saw an elderly Irishman with rheumy eyes and rotting teeth beating on the window next to him, screaming, You be the one! You be the one!

The car jerked to a stop, and the Weldsmore guardsman leapt out, dragging the man away.

The anguish and madness in the man’s eyes tugged at a memory Samuel had kept at bay during his honeymoon. A speck of inky darkness bloomed in his vision. It wormed its way into his subconscious, chipping away at his self-confidence. Samuel could swear it was alive and had an intelligence of its own. Sometimes he imagined it called his name, luring him deeper into despair. Samuel refused to let that happen and squeezed his eyes shut.

No! You will not control me! he muttered.

A hand touched his shoulder. Samuel? What’s wrong? Is it happening again?

He opened his eyes to see his wife, Elizabeth, staring at him with worry etched on her face. He reached out and caressed her cheek with the tips of his fingers.

I’m fine now.

She gave him a queer look, then smiled. All right. She turned her head toward the chauffeur as the guardsman returned. Brendan, take us home.

Yes, Mrs. Hunter.

***

By the time the car pulled into a smooth paved driveway lined with a hedge of pink and yellow roses, Samuel had recovered from his episode.

Before he could open the door for his wife, one of the younger underbutlers had done it and gave him a quick head bow. Samuel sighed. You don’t have to open every door, Charles.

But, sir. It’s my job. Aghast, the young man blinked at him.

Samuel looked back at Elizabeth. I will never get used to this.

Yes, you will. She gestured for him to exit.

The Weldsmore mansion was more than a house; it was a tribute to the power and influence of the families that dominated American politics and business. Four stories tall and designed in the Federalist style, it was built of red brick with high narrow windows set with amber-colored glass. A remnant of the House Wars, an elaborate wrought-iron fence with decorative ship designs welded at various points surrounded the property as a deterrent against forcible entry. A side and back garden with a gazebo and several ponds softened the more austere portions of the house. At the entrance stood at least two guards who wore long silver coats trimmed in copper and boasting the emblem of House Weldsmore. That same emblem, about hundred times larger, hung above the double oak doors that led inside.

Those doors swung open as if the weight of the world pushed back. Out pranced Mrs. Owen, the head housekeeper. Behind her, walking at a much more dignified pace, came the house manager, Sampson. They both beamed at Elizabeth with love and pride.

Miss Elizabeth. A petite woman close to sixty with ocean gray hair bound up under a cap with the Weldsmore emblem on it, Mrs. Owen gave her a quick hug. I mean, Mrs. Hunter. We are so pleased to see you home safe. She gave Samuel a warm smile. And you, too, Mr. Hunter. Her light Irish accent was not surprising considering she was the wife of Brendan, the chauffeur.

Thank you, Mrs. Owen, he replied. I hope Mr. Weldsmore behaved himself while we were gone.

The head housekeeper rolled her eyes. That man can be a trial.

Your father will be overjoyed to see you. The deep bass voice of Sampson interrupted them. As am I. He grasped Elizabeth’s hands, patted them, then turned to Samuel to shake his proffered hand. Good to see you, sir.

A former underbutler for the Weldsmores when Jonathan was a boy and his grandmother Beatrice ruled the family and the business, Sampson would never admit to the power and influence he had over Elizabeth’s father, but Samuel knew better. He had watched the sixty-three-year-old house manager protect Elizabeth like his own daughter. The entire staff would be lost without him. Jonathan might be the captain of this Great House, but Sampson was its anchor.

When will the both of you call me Samuel?

Mrs. Owen and Sampson glanced at each and said in unison, Never.

Sampson motioned for them to enter. Come. Your father is waiting for you in his study.

The newlywed couple followed the house manager inside.

Samuel watched as Elizabeth waltzed in as if her feet barely touched the floor. It amazed him that she never noticed the grandeur of the mahogany staircase or the chandelier that cascaded down from the top landing. Nor did she seem to appreciate the Italian paintings that graced the walls or the exotic birds-of-paradise that sat in crystal vases in the salon and library. A host of servants buzzed and hovered around her like a queen bee. Then he remembered: she was the queen bee.

Elizabeth! The voice of Jonathan Weldsmore boomed across the room.

Samuel watched his wife fly into her father’s arms.

Taller than Samuel by two inches, Jonathan’s lanky physique belied a physical and mental strength of which he was all too aware. He wore a long forest-green wool coat over matching trousers. Like those of his class, Jonathan’s lapels and cuffs were accented with three copper-and-gold wires woven into the fabric. His ensemble was finished with an iridescent gold satin cravat tied around his neck. Jonathan’s dark brown hair and mustache had turned almost completely gray over the year they had been gone, but none of the fierce protectiveness he had for his daughter had diminished, judging by the way he hugged her and glared at Samuel.

He knew that look. The man still wanted to shoot him.

Samuel. Jonathan released his daughter. It’s about time you brought my daughter home.

Father, stop that. She teased. We are here now and that’s all that matters. Elizabeth gave Samuel a wink behind her father’s back. Samuel struggled to keep from laughing.

Fine. Come along both of you. We have much to discuss. Jonathan turned and headed toward his study.

But, sir, Mrs. Owen called out after him. Shouldn’t the lady rest first after such a long journey?

Jonathan said nothing and marched away.

Mrs. Owen shrugged. Off you go. I’ll get you both unpacked.

Elizabeth reached out her hand toward Samuel. He took it, though he had the feeling that whether he liked it or not, the next few minutes would define the rest of their lives.

2

Elizabeth was worried as she walked into her father’s study. She was entitled to be married, happy, and have a life of her own, but there was always a fear in the back of her mind: Would the visions return? And if they did, what future would she see? And whose?

She had been nine when her first vision occurred in her sleep. At first Elizabeth had thought it was a dream—until she realized that some the events she’d experienced came true. After that, the dreams had continued, always in the same way. As she slept, her mind would enter someone else’s, and though she had no control over their body or thoughts, she could feel, hear, and even smell what they did. The vision could be years, days, or even hours ahead. Elizabeth had kept her ability a secret, fearing how her father would react if he discovered it. It wasn’t until one of her visions showed her Samuel’s murder that she decided to reveal her secret to her father. His reaction had not been pleasant.

Elizabeth? Samuel tugged on her hand.

She reached over and brushed a lock of his tobacco-colored hair off his forehead. I’m fine. How are you? She knew that some kind of melancholy plagued her husband from time to time, and it worried her.

Nothing a good night’s rest won’t take care of, he replied. So let’s go talk to your father before he reneges on his promise not to shoot me.

Very funny. Elizabeth took his arm as they walked into her father’s inner sanctum together.

A relic of the House Wars, Jonathan’s study had once been called The Sanctuary and was used to protect the family in case of an attack. The entrance to the room was barred by two massive steel doors with gears the size of a small carriage attached to the back. Each door was operated by Weldsmore guardsmen, who used a crank to rotate the gears to open and close them. They rarely closed those doors, but remained vigilant at all times. Though the war was long over, her father liked the historical significance of the room and kept many of the vestiges of that violent time.

Inside, one wall was lined with four amber-colored bay windows that could also be sealed and barred even though the massive gears that had controlled those mechanisms had been dismantled. A host of compound bows were displayed on another wall. Bookshelves took up a third wall from floor to ceiling with books on ship building in several languages. A loveseat was stationed off to the side while two matching walnut chairs with maroon velvet upholstery sat in front of Jonathan’s mahogany desk. A large drafting table dominated the room while Jonathan’s desk sat near the windows with a view of the bay. On it sat one of the first telephones in the city. A mouth piece perched on top of a long metal tube, which was itself attached to a wooden base. On the side was a handle that held the ear piece. All the Great Houses had one, and a few homes in the Middle District, but Jonathan’s had been installed by Alexander Graham Bell himself.

Business papers lay stacked in files on his desk, yet the drafting table was astonishingly messy with engineering diagrams and partial drawings of ships not yet built.

What Elizabeth loved the most about the room were the mechanical animals displayed in a small glass cabinet behind her father’s desk. There was an owl, two rats, a heron, and an automaton the size of a large doll. The owl he had built for her mother, Adaline, a few years after their marriage. The rats were a homage to a real one named Tinker that Jonathan had saved as a boy. Elizabeth had loved to listen to her mother tell the story of how her father had saved Tinker from an accident and then her cruel and stern grandmother. Even Sampson became complicit in the plot to save the rodent.

But her favorite part was hearing how a teenage Jonathan and his rat had snuck aboard one of the family’s new ships and saved almost everyone when the steering system broke and the boilers blew up. It was a story of adventure, daring, and bravery. As a girl, it had sounded like a romantic fairy tale—cut short by the death of her mother from pneumonia. These days the mechanical rat served as a reminder of the time when her father had laughed and smiled more.

Elizabeth. Jonathan’s sharp voice brought her to attention.

Yes, Father?

Sit.

Jonathan walked around his desk and stared out a window. Elizabeth sat at the edge of her chair with her spine straight and her feet tucked under her skirt while Samuel leaned back with practiced ease and no regard for his posture or appearance. Annoyed that he was comfortable and she was not, Elizabeth scooted back a tad to settle into the cushy part of the chair.

I see no reason to mince words with the two of you. Europe is unstable, and I fear there may be another war coming. Maybe not next year or the next, but it will come. And we must be prepared. He turned around and gave them both a hard stare. Neither one of you is suited to run this company alone. At least, not yet and not without help. Especially with this ‘gift’ of yours, Elizabeth.

Father, I haven’t had a vision in over a year, she protested.

That doesn’t mean it won’t happen again. And if it does, and others find out about it, it will ruin your credibility.

Sir— Samuel began before Jonathan interrupted him with a wave of his hand.

I know you will keep this secret, but secrets are often revealed whether we want them to be or not.

Elizabeth nodded. I understand. What do you need of us?

A slight smile tugged at his face. An heir might be nice. I presume that won’t be a problem.

Elizabeth glanced over at her husband, who threw up his hands in surrender.

Your wish is my command.

Samuel! Father! Elizabeth sputtered. This is most unseemly.

Samuel grinned, but Jonathan clasped his hands behind his back and studied his daughter thoughtfully.

I admit that I do not have the education to run a shipping business, but Elizabeth most certainly does. Samuel added. Perhaps you can find her a partner in case something happens to you while our children are still young.

Jonathan nodded. My thinking exactly.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. I agree, but I insist that I be included in the process, Father. I don’t want to be stuck working with someone who is disagreeable.

Of course.

What worries me is that you think there will be a war. Elizabeth clutched her hands and sat up even straighter. What has happened?

While we were in Europe, neither one of us noticed anything out of the ordinary. At least, where we traveled. Samuel commented. However, we were a little preoccupied. He reached over and held Elizabeth’s hand.

She was reluctant to let it go, but did anyway when she saw a fleeting look of sorrow cross her father’s face. Father, you know something, don’t you?

He pulled out the mahogany chair to reveal two small velvet pillows tied to it for back support. He paused, then sat down. Yes, although it’s mostly rumors and innuendos right now. Nothing specific. But we must plan for the worst and hope for the best. That’s how this we survived the House Wars and . . . other things.

Speaking of planning for a family, Elizabeth and I will need a house. I think we should rent first on the border of the Middle District and Beacon Hill. That way we won’t be too far for her to come and visit. She could even walk, Samuel remarked.

Elizabeth stared at him, almost too stunned to say anything. She glanced over at her father, who sat hunched down with his hands folded in front of him. By the way his thumbs twitched, she could tell that he was going to let her deal with it.

Samuel . . . darling.

Her husband flinched. Ahh. You only call me ‘darling’ when I’ve said or done something stupid.

No, it’s that women like myself don’t walk. We stroll. Like through the park or visiting foreign cities.

Strolling is walking, last time I checked. Samuel failed to hide his annoyance at where this conversation was heading. But this isn’t about walking, is it? You want to live here.

Elizabeth nodded. Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to tell you before, but I’m not ready to live anywhere else yet.

But we’re married. We deserve a house of our own.

Of course you do, but that’s not the point, Jonathan interjected.

Then what is the point? If it’s money you’re worried about, I have enough saved up to find us something suitable. And I’ll go back to work.

As a bodyguard? Jonathan shook his head. Impossible. It would take you away from Elizabeth. You will work for me.

Sir, with all due respect, that’s not going to happen. Samuel’s voice took on a hard edge.

Samuel, please. Elizabeth reached over and squeezed his hand. This is all my fault. I kept avoiding this conversation hoping I could find a better way to tell you. The truth is I’m too afraid to live anywhere else.

What are you afraid of? We’ve already been through so much together.

What if the visions come back? The terror of those nights flashed through her mind. She slipped her hand out of Samuel’s and clutched them in her lap again.

Then we get you help. Someone to teach you how to deal with them.

Jonathan stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over. Out of the question. You cannot trust those people.

‘Those people’? Samuel stood and leaned over the desk, facing off with his father-in-law. Who exactly are you talking about? Your daughter is one of ‘those people’ now.

Elizabeth realized she had made a difficult situation even worse. She reached over, grabbed Samuel’s arm, and yanked him back into his chair.

Both of you, sit down! When her father remained standing, she glared at him. You too!

He growled at her, then righted his chair and sat down with a thump.

Now, this is what we are going to do. She settled her shoulders back and held her head up. Samuel and I will live in the house for at least one year. If the visions do not come back during that time, we will look for our own home.

Her husband and father opened their mouths to speak, but she cut them off with a sharp